“I should have stayed at home. At least I could’ve put on my comfies and read a good mystery.”

“You can do that here. I have two Robert Parker paperbacks in my suitcase,” he said. “Is there something else going on? I’m not reading your mood.”

“I don’t have moods.”

“What is it then?”

I was tempted to tell him about Dace and the money he’d left me, but I was still trying to come to terms with it myself. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t just make my peace with my newfound riches and rejoice. “How did you get so comfortable with money? You seem at home in a place like this while I’m out of my element.”

“I like what money buys. Space, mobility, leisure, freedom from anxiety.”

“I’ve got all those things.”

“No, you don’t. You live like a monk.”

“Don’t change the subject. Where’d your money come from? I thought your father was a roustabout. Isn’t that what you said? The way you talk about your youth, I assumed you were poor.”

“We were dirt poor for years. As it turned out—and I wasn’t aware of this at the time—my dad trained with a man named Myron Kinley. He’s the guy who developed techniques for fighting oil-well fires. It was dangerous work and very lucrative, of course. My dad loved high stakes. At some point, I guess my mother put her foot down. The job was way too risky, so eventually he got out. Meantime, he’d saved up a big chunk of change that was literally burning a hole in his pocket. When we moved from Oklahoma to Texas, he met a guy who fancied himself quite the entrepreneur. This fellow had come up with a scheme to buy oil and gas leases with an eye to flipping them, but he was short on capital. He and my dad each put up a couple of thousand bucks and started picking up expired leases. They’d pay pennies on the dollar, then turn around and resell them to oil companies that actually had the capacity to drill.”

“Sounds like a great idea.”

“To a point. Problem was, they fought all the time. They were both headstrong and opinionated, so they couldn’t agree on anything. Eventually, they split their holdings down the middle and called it square. The other guy went broke. My dad hung on to his shares and eventually cashed in big. I didn’t know anything about it until he died.”

“Nice story. I like that.”

The phone rang and we both turned to look at it. Seemed too early for Nick’s arrival, but who else would be calling? Dietz crossed to the writing desk and picked up. “Dietz.”

He listened briefly and said, “Great. Send him up.” He returned the handset to the cradle. “It’s Nick.”